


any time after six

by 600ml



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Fake AH Crew, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-28 00:49:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8424205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/600ml/pseuds/600ml
Summary: Mica's fashionably late for a job offer.





	

Ryan sat atop the front of his Zentorno, his legs crossed, looking out over the skyline of Los Santos. The city looked so pretty when the sun was setting. You could see the bright lights turning on as it got darker, the trash on the streets disappearing under the poor lighting. He could appreciate it in a way he couldn’t in the sunlight.

It would look so much nicer if there was an explosion to go against the dark sky, but there would be none of that tonight, unfortunately. The Fakes weren’t planning anything and they’d made sure to stamp out anyone else in the city that might be. Of course, that was only crews that could get their hands on explosives. They couldn’t take down every other criminal or else there’d be no reason for them to be here.

That wasn’t why he was here tonight, anyway. No matter how pretty the sky looked, he wasn’t a big fan of looking at it just for the sake of looking at it. There were plenty of better things for him to do. No, he was waiting for someone. Usually, Jack would do this. She was better at it, and even if she wasn’t as well-known as Geoff, most who knew them knew that she did just as much of the planning as he did, so it was a respect thing. But this time Ryan had a bit of a special interest in the potential new recruit.

Ryan took out of his knife and started twisting it around in his hands. It was already sharpened, so he didn’t need to worry about anything other than maybe cutting himself, though that was unlikely. He just wanted something to do with his hands. He used to do it a lot when he was nervous, back when he was first starting out as the Vagabond and wasn’t so sure of himself. It let out his nerves without making it obvious he was nervous, most thought he was trying to be threatening. Now it was more of a habit than anything else.

He was about to think that he’d been stood up when a motorcycle pulled up beside him, the rider not wearing a helmet. “I know I said any time after 6, but two hours is a bit much,” he greeted, watching Mica shut off the bike and get off of it.

“I like to make sure I keep all my job offers waiting to see if they really want me to or not,” Mica said, coming and standing by the Zentorno. Ryan couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. He didn’t think she knew if she was joking or not. “So, what’s up?” Both of them knew she knew what was up.

“The clouds made for a prettier sunset tonight,” Ryan said, answering a question that wasn’t asked. “It’s a simple heist. A small bank on the edge of town, you’ll be going with Michael, Jeremy, and Trevor. Trevor will handle the car, Jeremy the costumers, Michael the money, and you everything else and anything they fuck up on.” It was really nothing that needed an outside hire. They had plenty of people that could do it that wouldn’t be doing anything better with their time, people that’d be fine to do it. [You could argue that the fourth person wasn’t needed, but then a small heist became one that no mistake could be made on rather than a walk in the park, and if that could be avoided by adding just one extra person it would be.] But it was good to use someone you were thinking about hiring full time on a few different jobs. See if they could be trusted, see if they could play well with the crew and the crew with them, see if they could perform and if so under what circumstances. It really wasn’t a guarantee. You had to be picky or else you just put yourself in more danger than you needed. He rattled off an address, a parking deck relatively close the bank, and a time.

It would only take about fifteen minutes to do, but a few days of planning had been put into it. Kdin had hacked into the cameras to give them a good layout of the place, and she’d do it again when it happened to clear the footage. Meg had gone into the bank itself to provide information on the camera’s blind spots. Fully costumed, of course, and if she managed to talk some other stuff out of the bank tellers, then that was their own fault. Jack had scrounged up a car to use that wouldn’t be traced back to any of them.

It was a whole lot of work to go through to make sure there would be no physical evidence it was the Fakes, considering they’d probably claim it as their own anyway. But they wouldn’t have very much money or power in jail all the time, and you couldn’t reasonably be on the constant run from the cops. The key was to make sure they never caught you and out of context it looked like you were never there.

“If you told me it would be this cold, I would have worn pants,” Mica said, leaning against the Zentorno.

“It wouldn’t be so cold if you hadn’t taken your sweet time getting here,” Ryan pointed out. He scooted over a little, so she’d have room if she decided to sit.

“You’re the one who decided to give me an open ended time for a business meeting.” Mica pushed herself further onto the car, and then turned to face the same direction Ryan was facing.

“The polite thing to do would be to arrive at the time I gave you, or shortly after it.”

“When have I ever been known to be polite?”

“Being a criminal does not mean you have to be rude.”

“Says the guy who spends most of his time with the likes of Michael and Geoff,” Mica laughed. “You’re the only one who likes being a walking contradiction.”

Ryan started to make an argument that they were nice people once you got to know them, but he stopped himself. They were rude. And they were responsible for a large amount of deaths. There wasn’t anything he could do to win this. They were just nice to him because he was on their side and, to some extent, their friend.

“There’s nothing wrong with being polite outside of work,” Ryan decided.

“You’re not wearing your mask,” Mica pointed out.

“I’m sitting on top of a car a football field from the road. I didn’t want to look like a cryptid.”

“You’re treated like a cryptid by newspapers. You might as well toss them a bone.”

“That’s for good reason. If I just wore the mask all the time then it would be useless. The blurriness of the photos is their own fault, though. They should get better cameras.”

“Ryan, I need to stop pointing that knife at me or I will have to take some rather drastic measures I don’t want to take,” Mica said, suddenly looking much more threatening.

Ryan looked down, realizing he was in fact just sitting there pointing his knife at her. He’d forgotten he was holding it entirely. “Sorry.” He started to put it away but Mica plucked it out of his hands before he had the chance. “Hey!”

“You pointed it at me for like a minute, I have every right to borrow it,” Mica decided, and Ryan couldn’t really argue with her. She had a knife. She twisted it around in her hands a few times and made like she was going to throw it, then stopped to instead look at the handle. “You’ve been using this for a long time?”

“Since before I moved here,” Ryan replied, which both of them knew meant before he was the Vagabond. “Reminds me of home.” The knife reminded him of small time crews and big dreams, those that died and those that he had to leave behind. But he didn’t get his reputation by giving the full answer to any question someone asked, and as much as he liked Mica he wasn’t about to start now.

Mica hummed an acknowledgement, making to throw the knife again. This time it slipped out of her hands and went spiraling into the darkness. “Fuck.”

“Not only was that a terrible throw, but now you’re going to have to find my knife.”

**Author's Note:**

> any time i call a motorcycle a bike my brains like "what kind of criminal rides a bicycle" but motorcycle is too long and looks weird.


End file.
